Musketeers: The Next-Generation
by njgryphie
Summary: Taking place 20 years after the events of BBC's final season of The Musketeers. Four children discover the challenges of living with a legacy they never asked for, and how the strength of their camaraderie might just triumph over all adversity. Suspense, Romance, and Hilarity ensue.


"I can't believe your mother let you butcher your head like that…" Alexandre whispered in awe to his companion.

" _Psh_ , it kept getting in my eyes. Besides, she respects my decision."

The two stiffened as Brujon, decorated Musketeer and right-hand man to the Captain, barked for the cadets to line up single-file across the courtyard. He was a wiry man with a hard expression and a crooked nose, intimidating by any and all standards. But Alexandre knew him to be a compassionate and charismatic man at heart, despite his numerous battle scars.

His father often praised Brujon's many accomplishments and acts of heroism. While Brujon told the children who called the Garrison their home about the legendary adventures he once shared with his brother-in-arms, the infamous _Three Musketeers_.

"Right." Brujon rolled his shoulders through the worn leather of his uniform. "So you lot want to be Musketeers? I'm going to make one thing very clear: if you're here seeking glory or riches, that there's the door. I suggest you leave now while your honour is still intact."

He paused a moment, eyeing each of them in turn, then continued.

"You'll find neither of these things here gentlemen. If you do, then you're not a very good Musketeer. Our sole purpose is to serve the citizens of France. To protect them from harm, from injustice, and sometimes even from themselves…"

" _Ugh… what a rousing initiation speech."  
"He's never going to be fooled you know." _Alexander murmured through clenched teeth.

" _I'm not trying to fool him!"_ she shot back indignantly, adjusting the brim of her chapeau.

" _If I'm to fit in with this lot, I need to look the part. As much as I can."_

She quickly bit her tongue when Brujon turned and started pacing in their direction. Her head snapped toward the ground, hands steadied on her belt.

"…we belong to the people, not to ourselves. Only the very best of you will learn the motto of this Garrison. And what it _really_ means to be a Musketeer. We do not accept anything less than perfection-"

It was at this point he turned to face the two gossiping recruits.

"Nor do we show favouritism to those who may believe being a Musketeer is their _birthright._ Am I being clear _Alexandre D'artagnan_?"

All eyes turned simultaneously in their direction.

"Yes _Monsieur_." Alexandre responded quietly. His face flushed red at the unwanted attention. He did his best not to acknowledge the equally guilty cadet at his side.

Brujon smirked.

"And how about you _Marie Cessette du Vallon_?" in a fluid motion he whipped the wide-brimmed hat off her head, a few strands of short golden locks falling out where she had tucked them tightly against her scalp. The onlookers whispered to each other in shock and confusion.

"I thought Porthos made it very clear what he-"

" _General du Vallon_ does not get to dictate what I can and can't do," Marie interjected calmly.  
"and he isn't exactly here to stop me, is he?"

Her lips tightened as though her confidence might falter, but clearly keeping a low profile was no longer an option, so she puffed out her chest and raised her chin defiantly.

"Besides. I'm a better shot than any of these imbeciles," she looked around at the group of exasperated young men "…perhaps even the best in Paris. I deserve to be here."

Brujon regarded her stoically. Alexandre could only shake his head, stupefied.  
 _Here we go._

Suddenly everyone's voices were clambering over each other.

"This must be a joke."  
" _The General really needs to reign in his daughter._ "  
"There's no way I'm fighting alongside a woman!"

"ENOUGH!" Brujon barked, silencing their protests. Marie turned her eyes to the ground, waiting for the axe to fall.

He spun on his heel, grabbing two muskets from the weapons rack and tossing one towards her.

She caught it clumsily and stared at him.

"In this Garrison, it doesn't matter who you are or where you come from. As long as you have the skills worthy of being a Musketeer." he surveyed his cadets seriously "If any of you would like to prove Miss Du Vallon wrong, make yourselves known."

A moment of hesitation passed, then one of the older recruits, a man named Claude, stepped forward, snatching the other musket from Brujon's outstretched hand.

"We didn't come here to be made fools of!" he spat, "I'll put this _girl_ in her place."

He lined himself up in front of the shooting range and started to vigorously pack the gunpowder down the barrel.

Marie watched carefully, then strode towards Brujon, handing him back her musket.

"I won't be needing this." she proceeded to pull out the short wooden crossbow that was strapped to her back. Marie then took her stance alongside her opponent and, with a dramatic flourish, loaded an iron bolt from her belt, pulling back the bowstring and setting the trigger with a satisfying _click._ She watched with amusement as Claude continued to labor over his weapon.

"What's this nonsense?" he scoffed.

"Oh don't worry, I'll wait for you to finish." Marie quipped, staring straight ahead.

"You want to be a Musketeer and you can't even fire a bloody musket?!"

"I'll have you know I _can._ I just prefer not to. Muskets are noisy and hardly accurate. If you want I can get you your own from the armoury so it's fair."

"Pah." he spat again. "Ridiculous. I don't need a flimsy crossbow to prove you're just a stupid child playing dress-up _._ "

Marie grimaced but swallowed the insult. "Have it your way."

Brujon signalled for their attention. "You each have three shots at the target, make them count."

Without a moment's hesitation Claude fired his first, blasting a hole through the target and sending bits of wood and hay flying. He took a few minutes to re-load, standing firm, then fired again and again. His shots were only ever so slightly off centre, a feat that was still quite impressive, even by Marie's standards. He said nothing, but smiled cockily, receiving a few supportive cheers from his companions.

As Marie approached the first target, she could feel their cold stares. She knew Alexandre was also watching intently, probably biting his nails like he always did when he was nervous. Then out of the corner of her eye she saw a hand waving. She looked up to the balcony and saw her mother, Elodie, cradling her youngest brother against her chest, giving her a comforting smile.

Marie turned her attention back to the target, determination burning in her eyes.  
 _It's now or never._

She stood with her back facing the target, looking her competitor in the eye so she could savour the puzzled look on his face. Then with a sharp inhale, she spun around, shooting the bolt straight through the hole Claude's musket ball had made. It rung loudly as it struck the stone wall behind the target. She then walked across the row diagonally, so that she was further away from the second target than she was from the first and fired again. Another loud _CLANG._ For the third she dove to the ground, summersaulting over her right shoulder and landing on one knee. _CLANG._ She managed to successfully shoot all three through the still-smoking bullet holes. Marie panted heavily, still holding her crossbow in it's firing position.

She heard a whoop behind her and felt a sweaty hand clap her on the back. Alexandre was grinning happily. "Not bad Du Vallon! A bit showy, but not bad." She looked again to the balcony, realizing her mother had already gone, probably back to doing chores.

The rest of the recruits were silent. Claude scowled at her, but seemed lacking in any sort of retort.

There was a glimmer of pride in Brujon's eyes, and he had a hard time masking it. He cleared his throat and addressed Claude.

"If you are quite satisfied Monsieur Pelletier and no one else wants to volunteer I think we can move on to our sparring practise."

He unsheathed his rapier and the others begrudgingly followed suite. Most passed by Marie and refused to even acknowledge her, but one or two nodded their heads in respectful appreciation.

She turned towards Claude and held out her hand. "Good shooting."

He looked at her coldly and spat on the ground, leaving her hanging as he joined his companions.

"What a _merde saucisse._ " Alexandre remarked, leaning heavily on her shoulder.

"He won't be the first or the last." Marie sighed. "Come on, show me that fencing technique you were practising yesterday."

"Gladly."

"Attention!" Brujon instructed over the sharp clashing of metal, "If you are to be Musketeers, you must always remember the first and most vital rule of the sword: the _pointy end_ goes in _your_ _opponent._ Do try not to get that mixed up."

For the first time in a long while, Marie was beaming, unable to contain her excitement. Alexandre could only breathe a sigh of relief as he readily drew his weapon.

Their journey had finally begun.


End file.
